He pressed his forehead to hers. His laughter rumbled up from his chest. It was the most glorious sound she had ever heard.
It was contagious. Within seconds she had joined him, laughing until her eyes were wet from the effort.
He took a handkerchief from his pocket and touched it to her eyes. “Remind me to find a more private place the next time I’m feeling amorous.”
“Aye, my lord.” She motioned toward the branches of the tree. “We can be grateful for what little cover they provide. Else I’m sure we’d have given the servants a great deal to talk about as well.”
“Let them whisper. It’s just one more rumor they’ll delight in spreading.” He took his time replacing his handkerchief and willing his heart to return to normal before getting to his feet. He offered her a hand, then walked beside her toward the little boy.
“Look, ma’am.” Liat held up his sketch. “Do you think this is fit for the king to see?”
“Indeed.” Olivia passed it to Quenton, who examined it closely before passing it back to the lad. “Well done, Liat. Now let’s join the others for tea.”
As they walked along the garden path, Olivia felt a lightness in her heart that had never been there before.
What a remarkable day this had become. Quenton had again called Liat by his name. They had found a solution to the problem of including Bennett in the king’s activities. And most remarkable of all, Quenton Stamford had stirred feelings in her she’d never even known she possessed.
Her heart was overflowing with so much happiness, she was certain that nothing could possibly spoil it. In fact, she was feeling so confident, she was actually beginning to lose her fear of meeting the king.
“Hold still, Miss St. John.” The village seamstress wore an odd sort of apron, with many deep pockets containing needles, thread, scissors, pins. The bed was piled high with bright colored fabrics, fancy shawls, bonnets, feathers, lace.
Two village lasses huffed and puffed around the room, holding up fabrics, matching gowns to bonnets and accessories.
Olivia had been ordered to stand on a stool while the woman pinned and measured, and ordered her to straighten her shoulders, stop twitching and turn. She would not have needed any of those orders if she had been alone. But knowing that Quenton was in the next room, waiting to approve each fashion, had her feeling jittery. She had never modeled her gowns for a man before, except for her father, who didn’t count.
“That’s fine, Miss St. John. Come.” The seamstress held out her hand and helped Olivia from the stool. “Let’s see what Lord Stamford thinks of this one.”
Olivia trailed the woman to the sitting chamber and stood quietly as she did her best to impress the wealthy lord of the manor.
“It is the finest satin, my lord. See how it shimmers in the light? And the ruby red is a definite contrast to the lady’s dark hair. I believe I shall add inserts of lace here at the bodice.”
Olivia felt her face flame as she saw Quenton’s gaze fixed on her bosom. The scene in the garden flashed into her mind and her flush deepened.
“And more lace at the sleeves. The lady will look as fine as any queen, my lord.”
“Indeed.” He nodded and waved a hand. “I approve. What else?”
“A moment, my lord.” The seamstress took Olivia by the arm and steered her back to the sleeping chamber, calling out orders to the two village girls. Half an hour later they returned to Quenton, this time to model a deep blue velvet.
When that had been approved, he ordered half a dozen more gowns, a riding outfit, a traveling cloak and the softest kid boots Olivia had ever had the good fortune of slipping on her feet.
When she finally emerged from her room, the seamstress was shoving coins into one of her pockets.
“Have no fear, my lord. The clothes will be ready in time. I trained my two nieces, who will work alongside me. Their stitches are fine and even, and I will personally examine every seam. If we have to, we shall do without sleep to have the lady’s gowns ready for the king’s visit.”
“Thank you, Mistress Smeed. Mistress Thornton assured me I would be happy with your work.”
At that precise moment the housekeeper came around the corner, curls drooping over her eye, sweat beading her forehead.
Quenton gave her a smile. “You may show Mistress Smeed to the door.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
The two women hurried away, with the two lasses trailing behind, their arms laden with fabric.
Quenton turned to see Olivia standing hesitantly in the doorway of her bedroom.
“What am I to do with all the frippery Mistress Smeed has left behind?”
“Frippery?”
“There are ribbons, combs, lace handkerchiefs, even a lovely shawl.”
“They are yours, Olivia.”
She shook her head. “I cannot accept all this. Papa once told me to never accept more than what I earned.”
He crossed the distance between them and took her hand in his. It was trembling, he noted. “You’ve earned all this and more.”
“I’m already being paid a fair wage. I have a lovely suite of rooms in a beautiful home. That is what I’ve earned. That and no more. Why should I accept such beautiful things?”
“Because it makes me happy to give you something.” When she started to protest he said gruffly, “Then you will do it because I insist. Because the king is coming to Blackthorne, and it is important to me that we all look our best.”
He saw the hurt in her eyes and hated himself for it. But, he told himself, it was for her own good.
“And I promise you this. Once the king is gone,” he said more gently, “you will no longer be obliged to wear them. The choice will be yours. Is that fair enough?”
She slowly nodded.
“Good.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear and thought about kissing her. Wanted to desperately. But here in the privacy of her chambers, once he started there would be no way he could stop.
He thought his wisest course of action was retreat. As quickly as possible.
When he let himself out of her room and started along the hallway, he had the strange sensation that he was being followed. He turned. The hallway was empty. But a shadow flickered, then disappeared.
He looked around for the hound. Now where had Thor wandered off to? As he passed a linen closet he heard a scratching. When he opened the door, Thor bounded out Peering inside, he found the remains of a leg of mutton.
“Stealing, are you Thor? That’s beneath you. If Cook finds you, she’ll have your hide.”
He picked up the bone and tucked it into his pocket. At least, he mused, they wouldn’t be having mutton tonight.
Chapter Ten
T
he day dawned bright and glorious. A warm sun burned off the mist that had rolled in overnight from the sea. A gentle breeze set the leaves of trees swaying softly.
A fitting day for the king’s arrival at Biackthorne, Olivia thought as she directed a servant to lay out Liat’s clothes and prepare his bath.
Already a troop of the king’s Household Cavalry Yeomen of the Guard, bearing the royal standard, had galloped through the village and up the curving driveway of the estate. As soon as King Charles set foot on Blackthorne land, the flag would be hoisted, to alert the populace to their royal guest.
For miles around the people had made the trek to the little village, some resting in carts, others lying under trees or lining the roads for a glimpse of the king. Village women sold pastries. Minstrels and mimes played the crowd, hoping for coins of appreciation. Young women flirted with strangers. Children chased one another through hedges and climbed trees, securing spots from which to view their monarch. Amid the crowd, pickpockets and thieves plied their trade as well. It was a rowdy, festive throng.
Quenton had ridden out early that morning to join the king’s procession. In the late afternoon Bennett and Minerva joined Olivia and Liat on their balcony to view the festivities.
Bennett was the first to spot something in the distance. Agitated, he pointed and the others turned to stare.
“Oh, my.” Olivia squinted and lifted a hand to shield the sun from her eyes. “I see them.” She dropped an arm around the lad’s shoulders and pointed. “Look, Liat. There. That flash of light is sunlight glinting off the arms of the king’s honor guard. Do you see?”
“Aye.” He gripped the balcony railing, his eyes round and unblinking.
Now, after all the days of panic and preparation, it was about to happen.
“Minerva.” Olivia turned to the servant. “You’ll see to getting Bennett below stairs?”
“Aye, miss. There’s a stable lad awaiting my summons.”
“Liat and I will warn Pembroke and Mistress Thornton that their royal guest is almost here.”
Catching Liat’s hand, Olivia dashed down the stairs in search of the housekeeper. She found her in the huge refectory, dashing about like a whirlwind, overseeing the contingent of villagers who had been brought in to assist the cook.
“The king has reached the village,” Olivia announced breathlessly.
Mistress Thornton let out a screech and turned on Pembroke. “We must get these fly-bitten, motley-minded wagtails assembled in the courtyard at once or we’ll bring shame to ’is lordship.”
Pembroke remained perfectly composed. “I’ll see to it, Mistress. I suggest you retire to your room for a moment and take stock of your appearance.”
“My... appearance?”
Mistress Thornton looked like a cat that had been tossed, hissing and spitting, into a tub of water. Her hair, damp with sweat, stuck out in little tufts around her face. Her apron, which had originally been tied at her waist, now hung somewhere between her hips and knees. There was a dusting of flour on her chin, another on her cheek.
Olivia stepped forward. “You’ll want to look your best for His Majesty.”
“Aye, miss.” The housekeeper seemed a bit dazed, as though just beginning to realize the importance of the occasion. “I... wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Come with me.” Olivia laid a hand on her arm. “I’ll help you.”
“You will?” Mistress Thornton turned to Pembroke. “You’ll...see to the staff?”
“I’ll see that they do his lordship and you proud.”
“Aye.” She allowed Olivia to lead her toward her room off the kitchen. Inside, the room was so clean it sparkled. It was quite a contrast to the woman who occupied it.
“Here.” Olivia led her to a chair and began to brush the tufts of hair. “Oh, Mistress Thornton, what lovely hair.”
“Is it?” The housekeeper sat in a daze as Olivia brushed and combed and fussed.
“Indeed.” With deft strokes Olivia twisted flax-colored hair into a neat knot, then secured it with a comb. “Now to that apron. Do you have a clean one?”
“Aye.” The housekeeper went to a small wardrobe and removed a clean white apron, edged with lace, that looked as though it had never been worn.
“For special occasions,” she explained.
“It’s perfect.” Olivia slipped it into place and turned her around to tie a neat bow.
“What do you think?” She offered the housekeeper a small looking glass.
“Oh, my. I look...” She laughed self-consciously. “I look almost pretty.”
“You look very pretty, Mistress Thornton. Now I’d better hurry back to find Liat.”
She left the housekeeper still staring at her reflection in the looking glass.
In the kitchen Olivia caught Liat’s hand. “Come. I think it’s time we made our way outside to await the king.”
Though she kept her smile in place, Olivia’s heart was beating wildly. Perhaps, she thought, like Mistress Thornton, the enormity of the situation had only now begun to hit her as well.
It was a dazzling display. The royal carriage rolled into the courtyard, all white and gilt, with its set of six matched white horses, flanked by the royal honor guard in their crimson and gold uniforms. More of the king’s brigade followed, in blue and gold. Behind them trailed a dozen carriages, carrying the royal staff and the king’s baggage.
The soldiers dismounted and stood at rigid attention, while trumpets blared. A liveried footman leapt from the back of the carriage and opened the door.
Quenton was the first to step down. He cast a glance at his brother, seated in his new wheeled chair, then smiled at Olivia, who was holding Liat’s hand. She gave him a tremulous smile in return and felt her heart begin to throb painfully. Dear heaven. Would all this pomp and circumstance cause her to faint? Ridiculous, she reminded herself. She had never fainted in her life. She wasn’t about to do so now. She squeezed Liat’s hand and straightened her shoulders, forcing in several deep draughts of air.
Quenton glanced toward his housekeeper and houseman and was pleasantly surprised. Mistress Thornton had somehow managed to tame her hair, freshen her apron, and compose herself as much as was possible under the circumstances.
Under Pembroke’s watchful eye, the staff of Blackthorne, from cook and scullery maid to liveryman and stable master, had assembled on the lawn in perfect order.
The trumpets fell silent. The entire crowd seemed to hold its collective breath. The king stepped down and stared around as men doffed their hats and women curtsied.
“Ah, Lord Stamford. Blackthorne is even lovelier than I’d remembered it.”
The voice was deep and rich, with a trace of an odd, lingering accent. Olivia knew that Charles had spent his youth in France and Scotland. Both countries had flavored his speech.
He was young, having just turned thirty. And darkly handsome. There was an arrogance to the lift of his chin. And a devilish glint in his eyes. He wore black satin breeches and brocaded waistcoat of brilliant scarlet and black. Over his shoulder was tossed a cloak of black satin trimmed with ermine. On his head was a wide-brimmed black hat with a feather dipped rakishly over one eye. Knowing the effect he had on the crowd, he paused for a moment, then tossed the cloak and hat into the carriage with a careless gesture.
When he turned and spotted Bennett he crossed to him and embraced him.
“How well you look, Bennett. Your brother has told me of your remarkable progress these past weeks. Are you hoping to make liars of my royal physicians?”
Bennett, enormously pleased at the king’s gesture, smiled and nodded.
Quenton took Liat’s hand and led him forward. “Majesty, this is the lad I told you about.”
“Liat, is it?” The king bent down to look him in the eye. “Lord Stamford tells me you are fond of butterflies.”
“Aye, Majesty.” Despite all Olivia’s coaching, the little boy forgot to bow and stared directly into his monarch’s eyes.
“Perhaps you and I can spot a rare butterfly together while I’m here. Would you like that, Liat?”
The boy’s lips curved into a wide smile. “Aye, Majesty .”
“Good.” The king glanced toward the young woman who stood slightly behind Liat. “And who is this lovely creature?”
“Olivia St. John.” Quenton’s tone softened. “She is Liat’s governess.”
Olivia curtsied and kept her gaze averted.
“A pity our nursemaids never looked like this when we were lads, isn’t it, Lord Stamford?”
Quenton’s lips quirked in amusement. “Aye, Majesty. A pity.”
“Our childhoods could have been much more pleasant with such as Miss St. John to oversee our nurseries. I hope you will see that the lad and his governess sup with us often.” The king shot him a sardonic smile. “I’d much prefer her company to yours, my friend.”
Quenton bowed his head. “As you wish, Majesty.”
“I do indeed wish.” He studied her a minute longer, then turned his attention to the staff, who had been waiting patiently. “I see some familiar faces from my boyhood.” He gave a wide smile. “Pembroke.”
The houseman bowed. “Welcome to Blackthorne, Majesty.”
“You don’t look a day older than when I was last here. And is this pretty little thing Gwynnith?”
The housekeeper blushed clear to her toes and managed a clumsy curtsy.
“She is Mistress Thornton now, Majesty,” Quenton prompted.
“Married, did you, Gwynnith?”
“Aye, Majesty. To a Londoner. Rupert Thornton.” She blushed again. “Though he lived for less than a year.”
“But he died a happy man, I’ll wager.” The king was clearly enjoying himself.
Quenton lifted a hand to encompass the entire staff. “Majesty, I present those at Blackthorne who hope to make your stay with us an enjoyable one.”
The men bowed. The ladies curtsied. All kept their gazes fixed on the ground, though a few managed to glance boldly at their monarch’s face before looking quickly away.
“A daunting task, I know. But I have faith that you are all equal to it.” Charles lifted a hand and several of his staff hurried forward with wooden cages. “I’ve brought some plump hens from my country estate. And lambs from the Scottish Highlands. A gift to Cook.”
“Thank you, Majesty.” Quenton signaled to one of the village elders, who limped forward, aided by his son and daughter. “The people of our humble village are so honored by your visit, they wish to present you with this cask of gold.”
Charles smiled broadly and spoke to all the assembled, knowing his words would be repeated throughout the village and surrounding towns. “You honor your king. And please him mightily. I accept this in the name of God and country.”
Clearly moved by this honor, and brushing away tears, the elder limped back to join his people.
The king handed the cask to his valet, then followed Quenton, who was pushing Bennett’s wheeled chair to the door. Pembroke held the door wide and the King preceded his hosts inside.
From the doorway he turned and waved to the people, who broke into spontaneous cheers and applause. He leaned over and said something to Quenton, who in turn whispered to Pembroke. At once the houseman hurried to Olivia’s side.
“His Majesty has asked that you and the boy join his party.”
For the space of a moment Olivia could only stare at him. Then, numbly, she caught Liat’s hand and followed Pembroke up the steps.
With light hearts the crowd began to disperse. The villagers, except those honored guests who had been invited to sup with the king, returned to their homes and fields, to relive every precious moment of this momentous occasion. The household staff hurried inside, eager to please their honored guest. The king’s soldiers headed toward the stables to see to their horses. Until the king left Blackthorne, the stables would be where they would sleep as well, in the hay beside their mounts.
The king’s valet would be given a bed in a smaller room of the royal chambers.
At last the king turned away. The doors closed. Olivia and Liat followed along behind him, feeling slightly dazed by all they had witnessed.
“You’re quiet, ma’am,” Liat whispered as he danced along beside her.
“Aye.” Actually, she was awed speechless.
“Where are we going?”
“I know not. To the dining hall, I suppose.”
“Will we sup with His Majesty?”
Olivia shrugged expressively. “That is not for me to say. Until he leaves Blackthorne, all under this roof will do the king’s bidding.”
The king’s bidding. As she made her way up the stairs to Liat’s chambers, she had but one thought. She, a simple country lass, daughter of humble parents, had actually met King Charles II of England. This day, she had become part of her country’s proud history.